


to the drums of the city rain

by spice_ghouls



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Edit: wrote this before the family dynamic was decanonized! Future fics of mine do not include it, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I Had To after today's stream, and thus I bring you:, anyways uhh what else do I need to tag here, because it really suits the tommy & techno dynamic as of right now, fic title is from gerard way's "brother", it was BEGGING for someone to write angst content, listen. listen. give this one a chance lads., this fuckin oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spice_ghouls/pseuds/spice_ghouls
Summary: The knock at Philza’s door arrives at an hour late enough that before he’s even begun the process of unbolting it, he knows with a fair degree of certainty who’s standing on the other side. There’s only really two people who’d decide to pay him a visit in the middle of the night – and honestly, Ghostbur’s been a lot better lately about remembering that alive people need to rest, so probably only one person.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit
Comments: 12
Kudos: 370





	to the drums of the city rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my friend june :)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+friend+june+%3A%29).



The knock at Philza’s door arrives at an hour late enough that before he’s even begun the process of unbolting it, he knows with a fair degree of certainty who’s standing on the other side. There’s only really two people who’d decide to pay him a visit in the middle of the night – and honestly, Ghostbur’s been a lot better lately about remembering that alive people need to rest, so probably only one person. 

He shuffles the few steps over to the door from where he’d been standing, cursing the heavy iron boots designed to keep him under house arrest, and opens it. For half a second, the only thing standing there on his doorstep is a full set of netherite armor – until the last few particles of a spent invisibility potion fizzle out around him to reveal his oldest son, leaning on the handle of his sword like a walking stick. Technoblade steps inside quickly, waving a hand in acknowledgment as he does so.

“Techno!” Phil exclaims in an urgent whisper, sidestepping to let him past into the house’s common room. 

“Hi Philza,” the taller man answers in greeting, closing the door behind him with a practiced silence that betrays the kind of habitual paranoia that's kept him alive all these years. Once he’s satisfied that no one can hear them, he visibly relaxes, turning back to Phil.

“You’re out so late! What if someone had seen you?” Phil asks, dropping the whisper.

“What are they gonna do? Kill me? I’d love to see them try,” Techno snorts. “Besides, I, uh, I wanted to stop by. See how you’re doin',” he adds, voice warming considerably.

Phil shakes his head, and manages to suppress a fond eyeroll. “Oh, I’m fine, Techno. A little house arrest is good for the soul, I hear. How are you? You’re looking well for someone I watched nearly get _fuckin’ executed_ not even a day ago.”

Techno huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well. It was an impressive effort, I’ll give them that, but they’ll have to come up with somethin’ more creative if they want to kill me.” He puffs his chest out in mock conceit. “Technoblade _never_ dies, didn’t anyone ever tell you?”

“Seems more and more true with every passing day,” Phil says, unable to keep the note of pride from slipping into his voice. He raised a fighter, and a damn good one. 

Techno shrugs. “Heh. I suppose so.”

They stand there for a moment, in the quiet housefront, the only sounds the ticking of the clock on the wall and the gentle breeze of the city on the windowpanes. Techno scratches his nose. 

“Would you, uh – would you like some tea?” Phil asks, breaking the moment’s silence.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful, Phil. That sounds wonderful.” Phil gestures towards a table at the back of the room, where Techno takes a seat as Phil moves to boil water at his brewing stand. 

“So - how've you been? How’s Tommy been? You two are living together now, right?” Phil asks, probing.

Techno is quiet for a moment, and when Phil looks back at him, there’s something disquietingly tense in the set of his jaw. _Ah._ So he’s gotten lucky with his first guess, and struck whatever nerve has begat the real reason Techno’s come to visit him in the dead of night. “Yeah, he was, as you may have heard, livin’ under my base, so we’ve got sort of an alliance now,” he replies, his voice even and careful. 

Phil turns back to watch the water boil, eyes tracking drops of condensation as they drip down the inside of the glass brewing bottle. “So, uh. That going well?” he probes. 

Techno clears his throat. “We snuck back into L’Manburg today. And before you say anythin’, it was fine, we had invisibility potions, we’re not total idiots – or, like, at least _I’m_ not, I can’t speak for Tommy, but whatever, not the point. We were just goin’ to see if there was any way of salvagin’ my armor without any need for bloodshed, but it seems that’s off the table.”

“Mhmm,” Phil adds noncommittally. 

He’s learned over the years that if there’s something bothering Techno, by the time Phil has even the first inkling that something might be up, he’ll have already decided whether or not he feels like talking about it. There’s no use in prying if he’s decided against sharing, or in trying to encourage him to get to the point if he’s decided to talk – he’ll be as direct and open as he wants, no more, no less. So, he knows better than to interrupt, if Techno thinks it’s important that he know all this. There are not many people Techno trusts, anymore. If he's decided he needs a confidante right now, Phil can do that.

“Anyways, uh. Do you know what the final control room is?”

Phil’s brow furrows immediately. “Yeah, I do. That’s where Eret sold them all out, right? Like, during the first war and all that? I wasn’t there, but I’ve heard about it from some of the others – it was a trap, they basically all got slaughtered.”

Techno blinks, lips parting in surprise for a half second before he schools his expression into neutrality once again. “Ah. Well, that – explains a few things.”

Phil can count on one hand the number of times in his life he thinks he’s seen Technoblade actually worried. He’s a uniquely lucid and calculating individual, not really prone to displays of strong emotion when not provoked under extenuating circumstance – it’s a trait of his that Phil’s always been impressed by. But when Phil turns his head around to look at him, Techno’s lips are pressed together into a grim line, his gaze vacant and focused somewhere in the middle distance, thoughts clearly elsewhere. 

“What happened?” Phil prompts, gently.

“We, uh, found it today. I mean, I was just stealin’ the ender chest, I didn’t know any of that about him and the others dyin’ there. But Tommy had what I think someone more professional than myself would qualify as a flashback, in there. He kept askin’ for Dream, of all people.”

Phil takes the boiling water off the brewing stand, and pours it from the brewing beaker into two matching mugs resting atop his crafting table, careful not to spill. “What did you say?”

Techno sighs, dragging the heels of his hands over his face. “Nothing _useful_. I mean, I got him out of there, obviously. Tried tellin’ him he would be fine, that Dream was the one who exiled him in the first place, but I don’t think I did much.”

“I’m sure you helped,” Phil says, placatingly. Techno shakes his head, and falls silent once again. Phil takes two teabags from a drawer, and drops one into each steaming mug of water. He pushes one of them towards Techno, who takes hold of it gratefully, bobbing the teabag idly to steep it faster.

“I’m just not good at that kind of thing,” he says finally, nearly quietly enough for Phil to miss. 

“Good at – good at what?” Phil asks, pulling up a chair next to his son. 

Techno snorts. “I just don’t know how to _help_ , in this situation. And like, his mental well-being isn’t my problem, technically. He has made a repeated habit of betrayin’ me when I extend the olive branch, to be fair. But Wilbur –“ Phil stiffens slightly, at the mention of his late son’s name, and Techno looks over at him apologetically. “Sorry, I know he’s – that the whole thing’s still not the best topic. I just keep thinkin’ that he would’ve had a better idea of what to say.”

Phil considers for a moment, staring down into his tea. The leaves diffuse brown into the water, turning the hot liquid darker by the minute with little curls of sepia seeping out like smoke.  
“I’m good at the things that I do, Phil, but mostly what I do is violence,” Techno adds, his arms wrapped around himself protectively. “This world, me, the voices –“ he gestures to his head for emphasis “- they all speak the same language, and it’s the language of violence. It's the language of me hittin’ things real hard until they die. Somethin’ of a universal vocabulary, there. But I can’t – I can’t _convince_ people of anything. Or like, help people, if what needs helpin’ isn’t somethin’ that needs executed with some good old-fashioned swift brutality. Wilbur was always better at that,” he says, voice softening wistfully at the mention of his late brother.

Phil takes a moment to formulate his thoughts. “So,” he says, “you’re, uh. You’re worried about Tommy. And you miss Wilbur, because you think you’re not – not equipped to deal with this.”

Techno laughs, mirthless and short-lived. “Well, you didn’t have to say it like that,” he complains, doing a frankly impressive job at veiling whatever it is he’s feeling as indignation. “But, yeah.”

Phil takes a sip out of his mug, wincing when the liquid inside is just this side of too hot. “Maybe you’re right. About Wilbur having a gift for that kind of thing, I mean.” Techno seems suddenly _very_ interested in the grain of the table, not meeting his eyes. “But Wilbur’s gone. He’s not here. Or, like, he is, but he’s a whole different person, now – whatever. You know what I mean. Point is, maybe Wilbur could’ve been better at helping if he were here. But he’s not. And you _are_. You’re here. And it sounds like you’re doing what you can.” Techno looks up at him, and sighs. 

“That’s sort of the root of the problem, though. That it’s _me_.” He rests his head on his hand, and finally takes a sip of his tea. “Like, I’m a great swordsman, Phil. I brew a mean potion. I’m even half decent at raisin' an ungodly number of turtles, as we’ve discovered recently. I excel in a number of areas. But none of those areas are the whole, uh, ‘being a brother’ thing.”

“I don’t think that’s really a skill, so much. At least not in my experience. I think – I really think you being there is enough, even if it doesn’t feel like it. He just needs someone to be there for him, right now. You don’t have to think of the right things to say. Just be there with him.”

Techno nods, and falls silent. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again. When he looks back at Phil and speaks, his voice is accompanied by a grave determination, his breath hitching slightly as he enunciates. 

“I don't want to lose him. I’m not gonna be an only child, Phil. Not if I can help it.” He swallows, thickly. “I’m not losing another brother. Neither of us are goin' through that again if it kills me.”

Phil reaches out, and is hugging him before he even really realizes he’s doing so. The grief rises in his throat like bile, and he chokes it down, holds his son close enough that he can hear his heartbeat. “We’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay. We’re not going to lose him. I trust you.”

Techno nods against his shoulder before pulling back. “Okay. Okay.”

Phil smiles, willing the wateriness away from his eyes. “We should, uh. Heh. We should probably drink the rest of our tea.”

The ghost of a smile makes itself known on Techno’s face. “Yeah.”

_________________

When Tommy wakes the next morning, the house is quiet. No noises from mobs outside, no shuffling around from the upstairs – Techno must already be out, then. He sits up, and glances around the room. There’s a new change of clothes set folded neatly on the flat top of the prime log, accompanied by what looks like a mug of tea, and a note. Kicking the remainder of his blankets off, he steps over to it, bare feet cold on the stone floor. 

_Tommy,_  
_I’ll be out this morning with the bees, if you want to come help. The tea is from Phil, he sent some of his favorite blend back with me for you. And the clothes are for you - from me, obviously. Let me know if you need anything._  
_-Techno_

Tommy sets the note down, and takes a sip of the tea, sitting back down on his bed. 

The realization strikes him that, for the first time since he was exiled, there’s no fear of what the day will bring weighing in the pit of his gut. No one to come explode his armor. No more waking up further and further from shore. He’s got warm clothes, and food, and things to do.

Speaking of which, he should probably get going. 

His brother’s waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on twitter at @enbytechnoblade or on tumblr at @spice-ghouls to come rant about sleepy bois inc with me! :)
> 
> please feel free to leave a comment! I am so unapologetically thirsty for validation/feedback!
> 
> edit: this was written before the family dynamic was decanonized by Techno! I know it's no longer canon! :)


End file.
